No Day But Today
by SammieBelle
Summary: Rent AU, based more on the movie than the stage show. Kurtofsky, Tike, Joe Hart/Warbler Trent, past Quinn/Joe, past Klaine
1. Chapter 1

Quinn Fabray pedalled quickly through the busy New York streets, dodging countless cars and puddles of slush. Her Christmas Eve activities had consisted of filming stark images of suffering around her Alphabet City neighbourhood. The pink-haired young woman was two years out of film school, and still had yet to produce anything she was proud of. This footage of homeless people, drug dealers, prostitutes and the ever-present cops was Quinn's response to the areas's latest predicament. Her landlord had decided to evict all the poor folks who lived in his buildings, as well as the homeless who'd created a Tent City nearby.

Back at Quinn's apartment, her best friend and roommate Dave Karofsky sat poised with his hands on his guitar. He and Quinn had connected easily, both having left cozy suburban upbringings in favour of becoming two more starving artists in the city that never sleeps. A former heroin addict who'd become infected with HIV, Dave was attempting to write one great song before his life ended. To him, death was inevitable. But the melody simply wasn't coming to him. As Dave inwardly lamented his creative block, the lights flickered out, blanketing the room in evening shade.

"Evicting the needy on Christmas" Quinn muttered as she carried her bike up the five flights of stairs to her home. The inside of the building was just as frigid as the outside air, and eerily dark. Just as she entered the candle-lit apartment, the phone rang. Dave and Quinn regarded each other curiously before Quinn picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Chang, man. Throw down the keys!"

Quinn dropped the phone and rushed out onto their fire escape. Their other best friend and former roommate, Michael Chang Jr., smiled and raised his hand in a wave, catching the keys that Dave tossed in his direction. They watched Chang walk towards the front door, out of their view, then Dave stalked back inside.

Before Chang could unlock the front door, he found himself surrounded by a group of rough-looking young men. "Hey, got a light, man?" one of them asked him. As he opened his mouth to say that no, he didn't, all four- or were there five?- of the men lunged at him. A fist flew towards Chang's face, landing square on his nose.

Quinn had followed Dave, and watched as he friend raised muscular arms and tore an old poster off the wall.

"What are you doing?" she questioned, her voice rough with nicotine. Their walls were covered with posters advertising Dave's gigs, back when he was a rising star.

"Too fuckin' cold in here" Dave spat. "We're having a bonfire."

Quinn rolled her eyes and glanced over at her desk, which held piles of unfinished scripts. Might as well, she thought. There weren't any Academy Awards in her near future. She grabbed a stack of paper and tossed it into the trash can where Dave had collected all those mementos of his former glory. He eyed his friend warily at first, but shrugged and produced a book of matches from his back pocket.

"I'm assuming you tried the fuse box?" Quinn asked as Dave lit a match.

He nodded and threw it into the trash can, setting the papers ablaze. "Bastard shut off the power." Quinn added the rest of her scripts into the fire, Dave following with his sheet music.

"Where's Chang?" Quinn wondered aloud.

The young thugs had dragged Chang into a nearby alley. They continued to punch ad kick as he lay defenceless against the brick wall of the laundromat. After grabbing both his jacket and the contents of his pockets, the muggers ran off into the night. Mike closed his eyes in pain.

Dave had carried the trash can out onto the fire escape. Quinn lit a cigarette with the flames, making her friend chuckle as they stared at the streets below. Their neighbours were protesting, shouting with fists raised, burning eviction notices floating through the air. A familiar black car cruised by and stopped outside their building. The driver's side door opened, revealing a short man with slick dark hair and a self-important expression. He observed the protests with a mocking smirk, which faded as he noticed an elderly homeless man leaning against his car.

"I will thank you to remove your filthy self from my Range Rover!" he admonished.

"Hey, Blaine! That attitude towards the homeless is exactly what Joe is protesting!" Quinn shouted from above him.

"Joe is protesting losing his performance space, not my attitude" Blaine responded snidely. "Come down, I wanna talk to you."

Quinn re-entered their apartment, intending to grab her camera to document the conversation. Dave glanced down, doing a double take as he noticed the boy who lived below them. He'd moved in recently, and looked sort of familiar, though Dave couldn't recall where he'd seen him before. The boy's large blue eyes sparkled, his plush lips curling into a grin at his upstairs neighbour. Dave recoiled as if burned by the friendly overture and headed back inside.

Blaine was tearing down posters advertising Joe's performance when the two roommates exited the building. Quinn pointed her camera at him and began to narrate.

"Close-up: Blaine Anderson. Our ex-roommate, who married Rachel Berry of the Westport Berrys. Blaine's father-in-law bought several buildings on the block, as well as a nearby lot, home to Tent City. Blaine wants to evict all the homeless from Tent City, and build a cyber studio."

"David" Blaine greeted, smirking and ignoring Quinn's commentary. "You're looking good, for a guy who's coming off a year's withdrawal."

Dave had perched himself on the hood of Blaine's Range Rover. "What'd you want, Blaine?" he asked pointedly.

"What do I want? Hmm...well, my investor-"

"You mean your father-in-law?" Quinn interrupted venomously from behind her camera.

"Right..." Blaine smirked. "He wasn't too pleased to read about Joe's performance in the Village Voice. Sent me down here to collect the rent."

"What rent?" Dave piped up.

"This past year's rent, which I let slide."

"Let slide? You said we were golden!" Quinn's face reddened with escalating rage.

"When you bought the building" Dave reminded him.

"When we were roommates, remember you lived here?" Quinn added through clenched teeth.

Blaine chuckled. "Ah yes, how could I forget? You, me, Chang...and Joseph." He gazed at the poster displaying a strikingly handsome young man whose dark hair was styled into dreadlocks. "How is the drama king?"

Quinn switched off her camera and lowered it from in front of her face. "He's...getting ready for his performance." Her defiant expression did little to conceal her uneasiness with the direction of Blaine's questioning.

"I know." Blaine's smirk widened. "Still his production manager?"

"Not exactly" Quinn replied with a shrug.

Blaine raised a bushy brow. "Still dating him?"

Quinn blew out and exasperated breath. "I was dumped, okay?"

"Found himself a new lady?" Blaine was practically salivating at the news of his ex-friend's misfortune.

"Well...no." Quinn's eyes dropped to the pavement below her feet.

"What's her name?" Blaine asked, eyes glittering.

"Trent." Both Quinn and Dave answered in unison.

Blaine's mouth began to form the letter T, as if we was about to repeat the name. Instead, he dissolved into peals of mocking laughter. He doubled over and even slapped the wall for effect.

"Thanks for being so understanding" Quinn muttered.

Dave snorted. "You expect sympathy from the guy who shut off our power on Christmas Eve?"

"Got your attention, didn't it?" Blaine laughed, crumpling Joe's posters into a ball.

"What happened to you, man?" Dave asked, lifting himself off the hood of the car. "You used to be like us. You used to stand for something."

"Look" Blaine began, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "Any owner of that lot next door has the right to do with it as he pleases. If you two haven't got the money, I'm sure we can...work something out."

Dave brought a hand to cover his mouth in faux shock. "Why Blaine, I thought you didn't swing that way anymore!" They both grinned as the short man's cheeks reddened.

"No...n-nothing like that" Blaine stammered, then cleared his throat. "When I open Cyber Arts, all our dreams can come true! Picture it- a state of the art, digital, virtual, inter-active studio. And you can stay here for free, if you do me one small favour."

"What?"Quinn asked, eyes narrowed behind her black-framed glasses.

"Convince Joe to cancel his protest."

"Why not just call the cops?" Quinn was getting in Blaine's face now, staring down at him angrily.

"I did, and they're on standby" Blaine replied, hands still raised in an attempt at defending himself. "But my investors would rather I handle this quietly."

"You can't quietly wipe out an entire Tent City then watch It's A Wonderful Life on TV!" Dave interjected, him and Quinn crowding around their ex-friend.

"You want to produce films and write songs? You need somewhere to do it." Blaine stated matter-of-factly. "We'll build condos on top of it, use their rent to fund everything. You two could make some serious money. Think about it." He pushed past the two angry tenants and got back into his car.

Tina Cohen-Chang sat at the end of the block, drumsticks clicking enthusiastically on a plastic bucket. Her head bobbed the complex beat, long dark hair swishing around her face. A passerby dropped her a nickel, to which she smiled genuinely and said, "Merry Christmas" though she came from a Buddhist and Jewish background.

A distressed noise from the alley caused Tina to pause in her drumming once more. She concentrated on listening for another sound, but heard none. Concerned that someone was in trouble, she picked up her bucket and backpack and ventured into the alley. There were more noises as she got closer; they sounded like painful coughs. Between the restaurant and the laundromat, Tina found a man slumped against the wall, obviously in pain.

"Oh my God- you okay, honey?" she asked softly, bending down to his level.

"I'm afraid so" the man rasped.

"Did they get anything?" Tina looked him over. The thugs must have made off with his jacket, the poor guy!

"I didn't have any money, but they took my stuff" he replied, eyes downcast. He sniffed, bringing a hand up to his bloodied nose, and hissed in pain."

"Here, let me-" Tina attempted to move his hand so she could inspect his wound, but he drew back, avoiding her touch. "No! I'm fine, I'm fine."

Tina recognized his hesitance. She herself habitually shied away from anyone when bleeding. Was his reason the same as hers?

"I'm Tina" she said in a gentle voice, meeting the injured man's eyes.

"Tina" he repeated. "My friends call me Chang. Mike...Mike Chang."

"Come on" Tina urged, holding out a hand. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"Ow" Mike cried in pain, but let her help him up.

"But I've gotta hurry. I've got a Life Support meeting to go to."

"Life Support?"

"Yeah. It's for people with AIDS. People like me" Tina affirmed quietly.

"...me too" Mike stated, their eyes meeting once again.

Tina took Mike to her apartment, about three blocks from where she'd been playing that night. To anyone who didn't know her well, the young woman might have seemed reckless, trying to help a man she'd just met. But that was Tina- always willing to help anyone in need, although she herself was just a poor street drummer who also made clothes. She could never just stand and watch while anyone suffered; it was in her nature to try and help.

Inside, she helped Mike sit down on the couch while she made him some tea and gathered her first aid supplies. Mike looked around the colourfully decorated apartment curiously. Who exactly was this beautiful drummer woman who'd rescued him from bleeding in a dark alley on Christmas?

"You always bring strangers back here?" he asked as she began to clean the blood from his face.

Tina raised her eyebrows at him. "I'm not a working girl, if that's what you're asking" she responded. "But I look out for my own." Her eyes widened as she realized what she'd implied. "I mean, you know, the poor folks around here. Anyone who needs a little help. Not just other Asians" she clarified with a nervous smile. Their eyes connected once again, and they laughed, all tension between them beginning to dissipate.


	2. Chapter 2

Back at Quinn & Dave's apartment, the young filmmaker had begun to worry about her missing friend.

"I'm going out to find Chang" she announced, rubbing her hands together in their fingerless gloves. "We could all grab some dinner."

"Zoom in on my empty wallet" Dave retorted from the couch. "Stay here, Luce. I don't need two missing friends to worry about."

Quinn rolled her eyes. Dave was the only one whom she allowed to call her by her first name, Lucy. "I've got my knife" she reminded him. "I know these streets like the back of my hand, Davey. Take your AZT." And with that, she shut the heavy door of the flat behind her.

Dave absently strummed his guitar, swallowing down the tears that were threatening to spill. No point in crying, not now when all he had to leave the world was a song, and who knows how long to write it in. Sniffing as if to keep his emotions inside, Dave climbed up their fire escape and onto the roof. He continued to play as he stared out at the city below. The familiar chords brought his mind back to the stage. He'd been at home under those bright lights, with the world at his feet, he'd almost been a star. The lure of fame was consuming; it sucked him into a life he'd never dreamed of. It was more like a nightmare- until he'd met _him_.

Rory Flanagan. A gorgeous little Irish lad, all creamy skin, haunting blue eyes and a dazzling smile. Dave's head swirled with memories of his first and only love. A tumultuous year of music, lights, passionate kisses, and heroin. Lots of heroin. He recalled inserting a needle into Rory's once-flawless arm as he knelt before his lover in the pouring rain. Their euphoric highs and disastrous lows, until the day it all ended. A positive HIV test, a knife taken to slim, pale wrists, and Dave was all alone again. Only now, he didn't even have the music to keep him company. As his addiction to both the drug and his boyfriend took hold, Dave's rock and roll dreams faded into nothing.

A knocking sound startled Dave out of his somber memories. He sighed and climbed back down to the fire escape, assuming Quinn had returned already.

"What'd you forget?" he asked in place of a greeting, but jumped a bit when he didn't find Quinn behind the door.

"Got a light?" the stunning boy from downstairs asked, holding up the top half of a handle.

"I know you!" Dave blurted out, then frowned suspiciously at the trembling body before him. "You're shivering."

"They turned off my heat" the boy replied nonchalantly. "Would you light my candle?" He paused as Dave struck a match. "What are you staring at?"

Dave shook his head. "Nothing...you look familiar." He tried to guide the frail boy to the couch. "Can you make it?"

"Just haven't eaten much today" the boy shrugged. "At least the room stopped spinning. What?" he asked, catching Dave's gaze again.

"Nothing...your eyes reminded me of-"

"I always remind people of...who is he?" the boy questioned.

"He died..his name was Rory" Dave muttered.

"It's out again!...Sorry" the boy stammered, holding out his candle for Dave to light once more.

"Well" Dave started, though unsure of where this exchange was going.

"Yeah?" the boy asked, moving closer. "Ow!" he cried as the hot candle wax dripped down his finger.

"Oh, the wax" Dave gasped. "It's-"

"Dripping" the boy interrupted, fluttering his lashes at Dave. "I like it between my-"

"Fingers! I figured" Dave finished for him. "Oh, well...goodnight." He raised a hand to indicate the door. It wasn't like he got involved with any boys these days, too dangerous. He had nothing left to offer but a potentially fatal infection, which this boy was already at risk for if he was what Dave suspected.

There were a few more knocks in quick succession. Dave raised his head to the doorway. "It blew out again?"

"No...I think I dropped my stash" the boy responded, eyes trained on the floor, already retracing his earlier steps. So he was a junkie, Dave thought. Great. How was he supposed to keep clean with a hot junkie around who seemed to be flirting with him? Of course, it must all be an act. If this boy didn't offer Dave...favours...in exchange for drug money, he'd just steal it. Not that they had anything of value, but Dave knew how it was. That had been his life, only a year prior.

"I know I've seen you somewhere...when I used to go out" Dave insisted, walking over to where the boy was searching the floor for his smack.

"I know that I had it when I came in!" the boy cried, then grinned when he saw Dave looking. "You know, they say that I have the best ass below Fourteenth Street. Is it true?"

"What?"

"You're staring again" the boy teased, his eyes still darting around the room.

"Oh, no! I mean, you do...have a nice...I mean...you look familiar!" Dave's words became as muddled as his thoughts around his intoxicating neighbour.

"Like your dead boyfriend" the boy deadpanned.

"Just your eyes...but I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else!" It would bug him all night if Dave didn't figure out where he'd seen this angelic boy.

"Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club? That's where I work...I dance" the boy finally admitted.

It was like a lightbulb went off in Dave's mind. The Cat Scratch Club was the only gay strip club most people had ever heard of. "Yes! They used to tie you up!"

"It's a living" the boy muttered, still bent over in search.

"I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs!"

"My candle's out again" the boy sighed, getting back up.

"Why don't you forget that stuff?" Dave asked. "You look like you're sixteen." He could actually pass for slightly younger, but Dave didn't want to feel creepy for finding his neighbour so attractive.

"I'm nineteen" the boy corrected him. "But I'm old for my age, I was born to be bad!" Wearing a feline grin, the boy advanced towards Dave slowly.

"I once was born to be bad" Dave stated with a roll of his eyes. "I used to shiver like that."

"I have no heat, I told you."

"I used to sweat."

"I got a cold." The boys eyes were still darting about nervously.

"I used to be a junkie."

"Now and then I like to...feel good" the boy purred, placing delicate hands on Dave's broad shoulders.

"Oh here!" Dave said before he could stop himself, locating the tiny bag on the floor.

"What's that?" the boy chirped excitedly, trying to see behind Dave's back.

"Oh, no...just a candy bar wrapper" Dave lied, tucking the stash into his back pocket.

The boy pushed Dave down onto the sofa. "Light my candle?" he asked, making it sound like some sort of sexual act.

"That was my last match" Dave told him.

Still grinning, the boy perched himself on Dave's lap. "Our eyes'll adjust, thank God for the moon." He grabbed one of Dave's large hands.

"Cold hands" Dave commented.

"Yours too. Big, like my father's. You wanna dance?" the boy said, pulling Dave to his feet again.

"With you?" Dave's breath caught in his throat at the closeness. It had been so long...

"No, with my father" the boy replied, laughing.

"I'm Dave" he breathed, realizing they hadn't been introduced.

"Kurt" the boy stated, holding up the smack he'd managed to take from Dave's pocket without him noticing. With that, he skipped out the door like some kind of tragic, drug-addicted pixie.


End file.
